I am about to make something that has nothing to do with me, all about me. You've been warned.
I took Chatty to get her first real haircut yesterday. When I told her a few weeks ago how badly I needed a cut and how I excited I was to see my favorite stylist for my birthday, she divulged that her hair hadn’t been cut at all in 3 years. Before that her mom would do it from time to time. She had never had a professional cut though and she was fascinated by the idea of it.
Seeing how excited she got even talking about it, I remembered yet again all those little luxuries that I take for granted as being “normal”. I love getting my haircut. I love being pampered, even if just for an hour. I love that I always leave feeling better than when I came. Even though it is one of those things I tend to take care of every 6-8 weeks (and therefore think of more as something I need to cross off my list - solely because it is so routine for me), it is still one of those little luxuries in life. One that not everyone gets.
So at my appointment last week, I asked my stylist how she would feel about cutting Chatty’s hair. I go to a nice enough salon and Chatty tends to be a little dirty. Her clothes are rarely clean (just yesterday she had spaghetti sauce all over her - she said it was the cleanest shirt she had), her hair is always ratty, and sometimes she smells - sometimes she smells bad. It’s just the way it is, and I didn’t want to make an appointment with my stylist without her being fully aware of what I was getting her into. I took Chatty to get a manicure once and the woman wore latex gloves the entire time. I was so irritated (although Chatty of course didn’t notice the difference), but I learned my lesson. I now make sure when we do girly things that people are willing to treat her just like any other girl who would step foot into these places. If they aren’t, we don’t do it.
Thankfully my stylist was completely open to the idea and we made an appointment for yesterday.
When I picked Chatty up she was beyond excited. We were driving to the salon and she was filling me in on the happenings of the week. That’s when she told me her mom is taking a “break”.
She said her mom is “really tired from all the hard stuff in life” and is taking her older sister and baby brother with her while she leaves town for a little while. Chatty and her little sister will be left behind. They are going to be shuffled around amongst neighbors and friends (whoever is willing to take them for however long) until her mom is ready to come back.
And my heart sunk. It literally sunk. I had to fight my anger from showing, because she was in the car and she seemed so OK with all of this. She acted like it was totally normal. She actually said “it will be kind of like a good experiment for when I’m an adult and my mom isn’t around!”
She is 12. She doesn’t need that experiment.
But she also didn’t need me telling her to feel bad about something she seems to feel OK about, so I kept my seething rage in check and tried to get as many details as I could. From the best that I can gather, there are no real details. Mom will drop her off at the first neighbor’s home willing to chip in, along with information about who else may be willing to help. These people will then move the kids back and forth at their will. Chatty assured me that she will call me from week to week to let me know where she is so I can pick her up.
I’m angry. I’m angry that this little girl has no stability in her life. I’m angry that this mother is so selfish that she has ceased being a parent. I’m angry that she gets 4 kids she clearly isn’t fit to be a mother to, and I may not get any.
And it is personal to me. I was 13 when my mother stopped being a part of my life. She had stopped being a parent long before that, but that was the point when she gave up all of her rights. That was the point when she decided it was easier not to be in my life than to be in it. That was the point when she decided living her life was more simple without a teenage daughter.
It was selfish. My mother was weak and incapable of focusing on what was truly important; being a parent. She was too caught up in all the changes in her life to remember that she still had this massive responsibility. This miracle she had been gifted with that she just walked away from because it didn’t fit into the picture she had for her life.
My mom needed a “break” too. Only her break lasted 13 years. It was only recently that I even received any kind of heartfelt apology for what happened then, and even that was filled with excuses. Most days I think I’ve forgiven my mom (not let her in my life, but forgiven her), but then things like this happen and I am angry all over again. That little girl inside of me is left screaming “Why! Why wasn’t I enough! Why didn’t you love me enough?”
And now I look at Chatty and I wonder if that is how she feels. If deep down inside she knows she is being left behind. If part of her fears whether her mom will ever come back.
I have no idea what the time frame of this “break” is, or how much has truly been thought out and planned. All I know is that no part of it sounds right to me. No part of it sounds like something a mother should do to their child.
And I hurt. I hurt for Chatty. I hurt for that younger version of me. And I hurt for the person I am now who wants so desperately to be a mother and is watching another mother take that role for granted.
I may take my bimonthly haircuts for grated, but I can’t imagine ever taking my child for granted.
And if I did, I would really hope someone in my life would slap some sense in me.
You just don’t get a "break" from being a mother. It doesn’t work that way. Or at least, it shouldn’t.
Unfortunately, I am in no position to slap the sense into this mother. I hardly know her and if I overstep my bounds I could very truly risk my ability to see Chatty and at least ensure she is being safely taken care of.
So I have to keep my mouth shut and watch; as a mother walks away from her child.
A child who grinned from ear to ear yesterday as she showed off her new layers and bangs.
A child who beamed when a stylist told her she had fantastic hair.
A child who deserves more.
ADSPACE
